


Apartment Story

by hachoo



Series: Imagine Me And You [1]
Category: The Hobbit RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-17
Updated: 2013-08-17
Packaged: 2017-12-23 19:04:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/930002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hachoo/pseuds/hachoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's in love with the Irishman living next door to him. The only problem? He's never actually met the guy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Apartment Story

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Квартирная история](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1343293) by [Netttle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Netttle/pseuds/Netttle)



> 'I will not write RPF' I told myself. 'I will not write unrealistic romantic fluff' I told myself. Clearly my brain hates me.

Tucked in between two old fashioned apartments shrouded in strategically grown moss and terraces sticking out from every second floor, Dean’s building is simple and plain and easy to miss. 

Rather than one main door leading into the building there are two doors on opposite sides, each leading into a small alleyway which connects to the main road. It’s unorthodox and impractical but Dean kind of adores it anyway. His own apartment is on the fifth floor, accessible only by a staircase. There are three other apartments on his floor, together forming a rectangle. He knows the guys living next door to him, two university students on exchange from New Zealand. They’re almost kindred spirits; he can hear them cheering for the All Blacks when the game is on and it’s nice, reminds him of home.

The apartment diagonal to his own is rented out to some rich couple who only come over when the weather’s nice. Dean’s never met them, it would be impossible to considering the way their building has been constructed. See, the far side of his apartment makes up the front exterior wall of the building. The other side attaches to his neighbours wall. The other side of their apartment connects to the back exterior wall of the building. There is literally no way for Dean to see who lives in the apartments behind or diagonally across from him. Even their ways of exiting the building are at opposite ends. 

Which is a slight problem, because he’s sort of fallen in love with the man who lives in the apartment behind him.

He’s never met him. Never set eyes on him, never greeted him. He doesn’t know what he looks like, doesn’t even know his name. What he has learnt over the past three years is knowledge gathered from what he can hear through the walls, because the walls are paper thin and it’s impossible to have any privacy. 

He knows the man is Irish, has heard him talking on the phone or with guests with an accent that makes Dean’s knees buckle slightly. He works somewhere with pretty regular hours, leaves after Dean but is always back when Dean returns. He’s close to his parents, Skype’s them almost every week (and that’s something Dean appreciates because he does the same thing) and leaves during Christmas, presumably to visit them. Or perhaps to meet a long lost lover who lives on the other side of the world, but Dean would rather go with the first option. 

He knows the man is a terrible singer, has heard him belting out rock ballads in the shower. He loves movies, watches them every weekend. He’s either a terrible cook or just extremely clumsy in the kitchen, judging from the loud clanging noises and swearing Dean hears almost every night. 

And it’s weird, because Dean knows all these things, has fallen in _love_ with all these things but he can’t put a face to the man. As a photographer it’s his job- and passion- to capture images. Right now he has blank puzzle pieces strewn across the floor with no way of piecing them together. 

He could go up and meet him. It would be so easy, to just enter through the other door, walk up the five flights of stairs and knock on the man’s door. But it’s been three years, three years of living next to each other with no introduction and it’s too late now. 

Adam doesn’t think so, constantly tells Dean off. _‘It’s never too late Dean. Just go up and say hi!’_ He nearly dragged Dean over one day, would have been successful if Dean hadn’t tripped on the staircase and sprained his ankle. _‘See? It’s not meant to be,’_ Dean had declared mournfully. Adam had whacked him over the head with a pillow but didn’t try forcing Dean to go over again, which Dean is grateful for.

Because there’s a part of Dean that feels content with the situation. Maybe the other man has no idea he exists, maybe he thinks of Dean as nothing more than the man who lives in the apartment behind him. But it didn’t matter because if there is no contact then Dean can’t get hurt. _‘Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all’_ they say. But Dean’s loved and he’s lost and he’s in no hurry to do so again. 

 

\--

 

It’s a simple Saturday night that makes Dean reconsider everything. 

He’s sitting on his couch, making his way through a bowl of spaghetti as a movie plays on the tv. It’s late, nearly eleven but he’s feeling peckish and Dean has always had a soft spot for spaghetti. The apartment behind him has been suspiciously quiet all night. Clearly Irish is out with friends ( _or on a date_ , Dean’s traitorous mind suggests). 

He glances up when he hears the door of Irish’s apartment open and close, hears footsteps walking through the apartment and he could be wrong but it sounds like there’s more than one person. And then he can hear voices, the familiar strong Irish lilt followed by a softer, breathier giggle that is definitely _not_ his neighbour and something in Dean’s stomach knots uncomfortably. He ignores it, turning his attention back to his spaghetti. 

He’s successful for all of two minutes before he hears the same giggle. It’s most definitely female, light and flirty and Dean wants nothing more than to get out _right now_ because he knows where this is heading. But it’s pouring outside and he doesn’t have an umbrella and it’s eleven in the night so he stays where he is, spaghetti turning into ash on his tongue, sliding down his throat like sludge. 

Once he’s washed the dishes and placed the leftovers in the fridge he tries to watch some tv. ‘Tries’ being the operative word because he can still hear them talking which is bad enough but then they stop talking and for some reason that’s worse. 

He’s made it through two episodes of some mindless reality tv show when he hears the word “bedroom” and everything kind of shudders to a halt. Dean sits up slightly, remote clutched in his hand. There’s the sound of walking, uncoordinated, stumbling into furniture as they move closer to the bedroom, closer to Dean. There’s silence for a while, punctuated occasionally by a creak of the bed and Dean desperately tries not to picture wandering hands and clothes discarded on the floor. 

And then there’s a rhythmic banging against the wall as a headboard slams against it, followed by soft moans and quiet words that slowly increase in volume. Dean feel sick to the stomach, hasn’t had to hear this in years, not since he lived in a dorm at university. And yet there’s a part of him that feels slightly turned on because Irish is letting out a low moan that stirs something low in Dean’s stomach. 

He frantically turns off the tv and goes to his bedroom, grabbing his iPod and a book of the nearest shelf. It helps, but only slightly and he can still hear the thud of the headboard, hear the sounds of pleasure from both of them and he knows the minute they finish, hears it loud and clear and God what he wouldn’t do for soundproof walls right about now. 

‘Aidan’ she had cried out. Dean finally knows the name of his neighbour. 

He wishes more than anything that he didn’t.

 

\--

 

Dean wakes the next morning with his earphones still plugged into his ears and a book settled across his chest. There’s a pain in his chest that takes him a few moments to place before it all hits him and he sinks back into his pillow with a low groan. He spends the Sunday moping in bed, and stumbles his way through work on Monday until Richard sits him down and asks in a concerned voice if he’s okay. 

Dean’s not really sure how to reply. ‘The man I’ve been crushing on for three years but haven’t actually met has a girlfriend’ isn’t something he wants to broadcast to the world, and certainly not to his boss. So he lies and says he hasn’t been getting enough sleep and Richard believes him because well, why shouldn’t he?

He tells Adam though. They go to a bar and Dean gets absolutely _wasted_. Adam offers a sympathetic shoulder, doesn’t say ‘I told you so’ or ‘you have no one to blame but yourself’ and for that Dean loves him. He tells Adam so and gets an affectionate smile in response. Adam eventually drags him home, settles him into bed with a glass of water and a bucket on the floor. 

“You take good care of me,” Dean mumbles sleepily, tries to pat Adam’s chest in thanks and ends up whacking his cheek. Adam says something in reply but Dean’s too far gone to understand. 

 

\--

 

Dean tries to get over Aidan. He really does. It’s not right, to be hung up over a man he doesn’t know, a man who has a _girlfriend_ (and well Dean hasn’t actually heard her again, hasn’t heard anybody apart from Aidan and it’s been two weeks but that’s beside the point). But it’s hard, to get over someone when they live less than five feet away from you. Dean can still hear Aidan living his life next door and it’s finally starting to hurt, to know he has no part in it. 

Because he doesn’t. He’s been pretending for years that he’s a part of Aidan’s life, that somehow living next door to him makes them something more than just strangers, but it doesn’t.

So Dean does what any normal human does: he gets away. He goes back to New Zealand for two weeks. His parents are more than thrilled at the unplanned visit and wrapped in their embrace, Dean realises just how much he’s missed home, missed his family.

He doesn’t offer to tell them why he’s back and they don’t pry. They just let him slip back into their lives and its nice and comforting and its _home_. Brett knows though. Not much, but Dean had let slip a little one night when they were drinking on the porch. _‘I’m in love with someone who doesn’t love me,’_ he’d said. Brett had taken a long sip from his beer. _‘Then he’s an idiot,’_ he’d replied before drawing Dean into a headlock because they’re brothers and that’s what they do. 

Dean’s reluctant to leave once the two weeks are up but he’s an adult and he has responsibilities. So he heads back, his heart heavy and he’s not sure if it’s because of what he’s leaving behind or what he’s heading towards. Adam picks him up from the airport, updates him on all the latest gossip. Dean is frequently surprised by the sheer amount of gossip Adam seems to pick up. They eventually reach Dean’s apartment and Adam helps him lug his bags up all five flight of stairs. He offers to stay and help Dean unpack but Dean refuses, knowing Adam has a date in a few hours. He makes Adam swear to tell him how it goes though, a promise Adam agrees to quite eagerly. 

Well, if he can’t have his own love life he’ll just have to live vicariously through Adam’s. 

 

\--

 

Dean’s only been back for a few hours when there’s a knock on the door. He frowns, glances at the clock. It’s just past six in the evening which isn’t exactly an odd time for guests, except for the fact that he’s not expecting anyone. Whoever it is knocks a second time, slightly louder and Dean gets to his feet with a sigh, pads across the floorboards and opens the door. 

There’s a gorgeous dark haired man standing at his doorstep. 

“Hello?” Dean offers, blinking. The man’s face splits into a smile that lights up everything about him. He oozes charisma and warmth and there’s something incredibly familiar about him except Dean’s certain he’s never seen him before. 

“Hi,” the man says and Dean’s eyes widen. “You don’t know me but-”

“You’re Aidan,” Dean breathes because after three years he’d recognise that Irish lilt anywhere. To his credit Aidan doesn’t look surprised. He nods, smile still stretched across his face and Dean can’t bring himself to stop staring because it’s been three years and he’s finally able to put a name to the face. 

He thinks he might have fallen in love all over again.

“I’m Dean,” he hurriedly says. If it’s possible Aidan’s smile grows even wider as he extends a hand. 

“It’s nice to finally meet you in person Dean,” he says and his eyes crinkle at the corners. Dean wants to take a photo and stare at those crinkles forever. Instead he takes the offered hand and shakes it. Aidan’s fingers are long but his hand is warm and he doesn’t let go. 

“Do you- do you want to come in?” Dean asks hesitantly.

“Yeah, that’d be great,” Aidan answers. Dean pulls the door back fully and Aidan wanders inside. He glances around, taking everything in and Dean’s suddenly hit by how _messy_ his apartment is. He’d left in a hurry and it didn’t help that his bags were still strewn across the floor. Aidan doesn’t seem to mind though, instead walking over to the wall where Dean’s framed the photos he’s most proud of. 

“Did you take these?” Aidan asks and Dean nods. 

“I’m a photographer.”

“They’re amazing.”

“Thank you.”

A silence falls over them, not exactly uncomfortable but definitely noticeable. 

“You probably want to know why I’m here,” Aidan says and Dean nods even though he doesn’t really care _why_ Aidan’s there, just that he _is_. 

“I haven’t heard anything from your apartment for two weeks. I tried knocking on the wall a few times but you never said anything, so when I heard noises I just wanted to check…” Aidan’s voice trails off as he flushes, rubs a hand nervously through his hair. “Sorry, that sounds really weird. I’m not a stalker or anything.”

And Dean laughs because he knows the feeling. 

“The walls are really thin,” he offers and Aidan nods. 

There’s another pause.

“We probably should have done this a long time ago, right? Introduce ourselves, I mean.” Aidan’s smiling again but it’s more hesitant and his eyes don’t crinkle this time.

“Probably,” Dean agrees. He sees Aidan’s smile dim even further and hastens to add, “but there’s no time like the present.” The smile he’s rewarded with is well worth it. 

So they sit down and talk for _hours_. Dean learns all about Aidan, about his family, his home, why he moved, where he works. And in return Dean offers up parts of his own life story. It hits midnight and continues past, and it’s not until two that they both realise it’s a weekday and they both have work. They wind up at Dean’s door again, awkwardly shifting around until Dean finally blurts out that he’d love for Aidan to visit again. Aidan beams at him, eyes crinkling. 

And when he finally leaves Aidan presses a soft kiss to the corner of Dean’s lips. It feels like a promise.

 

\--

 

Aidan does visit again, two days later. He brings a tray of brownies that he’s just made, fresh from the oven. They eat them together on Dean’s couch until they’re both slumped against the cushions, each clutching their stomach and complaining about how full they are. Dean turns his head to look at Aidan, startled to find Aidan is already staring at him, eyes a mix of green and brown that Dean can’t quite place. Aidan’s eyes dart down to his lips before he moves forward and captures them in a soft kiss. It’s chocolate-y and warm and Dean wants nothing more than to sink into them forever but he can’t. He pulls back reluctantly. 

“You have a girlfriend,” he says. Aidan frowns. 

“No I don’t,” he says. It’s Dean’s turn to frown. 

“Yes you do, I heard her.”

“When?”

“About three weeks ago. You brought her to your apartment.”

“That wasn’t my girlfriend, that was just a girl I hooked up with-” Aidan cuts himself off, eyes wide. “Wait, how do you know about her?”

“Like I said before, the walls are very thin,” Dean says quietly and Aidan turns bright red.

“Oh God this is so embarrassing,” he moans, rising to his feet. He paces before Dean, who follows his progress with wide eyes. 

“I don’t- it was just a one night thing. I just met her and I needed to take my mind off things and it all kind of progressed but it’s not a relationship. I don’t do that normally. I’m not one of those guys that just sleeps around. Of course there’s nothing wrong with that-” Aidan suddenly looks terrified, as though suddenly struck with the realisation that Dean could be one of those guys. “But I just don’t do that. What you heard wasn’t me. I mean it was _me_ but it’s wasn’t… me?” 

Dean can’t stop himself from smiling at the confused look on Aidan’s face as he finishes speaking. Aidan slumps back down onto the couch, a dejected look on his face. 

“I’ve made a right mess of this, haven’t I,” he mumbles to himself. 

“A right mess of what?” Dean prods. 

_“This.”_ Aidan gestures between them. “I might as well come clean. I’ve kind of been in love with you since you moved in.”

Dean’s fairly certain if his eyebrows rise any higher they’ll fly right off his face. “What?” He manages to get out. Aidan nods.

“I was never brave enough to say anything. You were living right next door and I was too much of a coward to come and say hi. And then it got to the point where we’d been living next to each other for so long that it seemed weird to suddenly introduce myself. But then you disappeared and I… I missed you.” Aidan’s voice is barely more than a whisper by the end and his eyes are downcast, refusing to look at Dean. 

“You’ve been in love with me all this time?” Dean asks after a pause. Aidan nods slightly, cheeks flushed. 

And Dean laughs. 

“You idiot,” he says and Aidan’s head shoots up but he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t really get the chance to because Dean’s kissing him, tugging him closer as his hands wind around Aidan’s neck, slide into his hair. And then Aidan’s kissing him back, clutching at his shirt, mouth hot and unrelenting again his own. 

They fall back onto the couch, Aidan hovering over Dean, kissing his way down Dean’s jaw, down his neck and it’s all just a blur of heat and desire. Dean drags Aidan’s mouth back to his own, sucks on Aidan’s bottom lip. He can still taste the brownie but beneath that it’s all Aidan. Something so familiar and yet so new. He pulls back slightly to take a breath, Aidan’s forehead pressed against his own. They breathe together as one, slow and intimate, Aidan’s lips barely brushing his own. 

“It feels like I’ve known you forever,” Aidan says quietly, almost reverently.

And it really does.

 

\--

 

After six months they both realise Aidan’s spending more time at Dean’s place than he is his own. The rent’s not exactly cheap and there’s not enough room in Dean’s apartment for all of Aidan’s junk. Dean’s sentimental, reluctant to move from the building where they met but Aidan’s adamant. _‘I’ve waited to be with you for three years, I’m not waiting any longer.’_ So they move into a new apartment, not too far from their old ones. It’s more modern, they have an elevator and everything. 

It’s weird at first, living together. They’ve lived beside each other for so long they know each other’s habits, but at the same time they don’t. And there’s so much they still have to learn about each other. Dean’s heard the kettle in Aidan’s apartment go off every morning like clockwork, but he never knew whether it was for tea or coffee (it’s for tea; Aidan downs several cups a day). 

He learns that Aidan’s pretty much a zombie in the morning until he has food in him, that he’s incredibly forgetful and always loses his keys. He seeks out body heat in the night, curling around Dean, all arms and legs. His smile is infectious, his laugh is heavenly and even three years later his accent still has the ability to make Dean swoon. He’s got a terrible sweet tooth, gets grumpy when he’s not had enough sleep, loves chatting to new people.

It’s small things, little bits of knowledge that seem meaningless but they’re not because they make up who Aidan is. The puzzle pieces are finally coloured and Dean’s got a pretty good idea of where they go. 

He tells Aidan one night when they’re in bed, mumbles it sleepily into Aidan’s bare shoulder. Aidan just laughs, fingers trailing along Dean’s side. It’s something else Dean’s learnt; how tactile Aidan is. He always finds a way to touch Dean, whether it be a hand around his shoulder when they’re on the couch, arms wrapped around Dean’s waist as he waits for coffee, feet tangled with Dean’s under the table when they eat dinner. He hugs Adam the first they met, not one of those awkward one armed things but an actual proper hug. Needless to say he and Adam get along like wildfire and sometimes Dean regrets introducing them to each other, like when Adam’s recounting stories from the good old days when Dean had long hair and drank too much and Aidan falls off his chair from laughing too hard. 

He introduces Aidan to his parents over Skype. They fall for him immediately, inviting him over to New Zealand for Christmas. Brett’s far more reserved, pieces together almost immediately that Aidan is the man Dean had been talking about. It takes over ten conversations before he warms up to Aidan and Dean’s not quite sure if he’s filled with exasperation or love at his little brother’s protective nature.

 

\--

 

“Was I what you expected?” Dean asks one night when they’re both in bed. Aidan’s reading a book and Dean’s fiddling with his camera, checking everything’s working for a shoot he has the following day.

“What?”

“Was I what you imagined? From what you heard?” It worries Dean sometimes, the unusual start of their relationship. They each fell in love with the idea of the other and its all well and good but sometimes Dean wonders how he shapes up to Aidan’s idea of him.

“You are more than anything I could ever imagine,” Aidan says and there isn’t even a hint of doubt in his voice. And later as he pushes into Dean with so much care, as he rocks their bodies together against the sheets, breathless and oh so beautiful; as he comes inside Dean with a loud cry, Dean feels something in his chest lift and the puzzle pieces finally fall into place. 

So they continue to learn each other’s likes and dislikes. They learn to compromise on things they don’t agree on and make the most of things they do. They’re in a relationship and its better than Dean ever thought it could be. Because there’s hurt, yes. When they argue over stupid things, when someone says something hurtful. They’re only human, after all. Victims to their own selfishness and pride. But there’s also love. And to be loved, being loved by _Aidan_ is worth it.

Dean thinks he finally understands the old sayings.


End file.
